


ice gray gaze

by havisham



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Birthday Smut, Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Deception, M/M, Overindulgence, Season/Series 01, Weird Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23536447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Post-Episode 161, Season 1 Jon Sims, the Archivist, learns why he got the job. Again and again.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 14
Kudos: 120
Collections: Robot Rainbow 2020





	ice gray gaze

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indefensibleselfindulgence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefensibleselfindulgence/gifts).



It was a nice thought -- really, it was a _nice_ thought, but the inevitability of being dragged to a nice pub or, God forbid, a nice _club_ \-- to continue the celebration of Jon’s birthday drove Jon himself to distraction. How could he avoid it? He knew he had to. The surprise birthday had been very pleasant, but still almost too much for him to handle just now. To top it off with after work debauchery… No. He couldn’t possibly do it. 

He contemplated just slipping out before everyone else, making a run to the nearest Tube station. He would be happiest at home. He had a new book to read. Possibly, there would be packages left for him from his midnight clicking on a ubiquitous everything-website. 

And Georgie would probably call him to wish him a happy birthday, possibly putting Admiral on to meow at him. He couldn’t think of missing that. 

Jon fantasized briefly about simply disappearing into the ether, and thus distracted he accidentally deleted the email Rosie had forwarded him about the benefit the Lukases were throwing, a benefit that he, as the new Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, would now be obliged to attend.

His new position was still new enough that he felt a frisson of pleasure in thinking about it. 

The email had said that he should ask Elias if he had any questions.

Suddenly, Jon had a way out. 

*

Elias’ office, like Elias himself, was soothing and presentable, but not particularly memorable. It had been last decorated at the turn of the millenium, with tones of gray, silver and chrome. Very little stayed on the clear glass of Elias’ desk -- the promise of a paperless office had been achieved in Elias’ office only. 

“Jon,” Elias said, pleased. He had been looking intently at a spreadsheet and had taken off his glasses, looking weary for a moment. He was handsome in a completely nondescript way, like a man in a cardigan catalogue. Brown hair going grey, fair skin to which a tan would be an anathema, and such light grey eyes that they seemed almost transparent at times. Obviously, catalogue Elias would have to wear sunglasses. Strange eyes just wouldn’t sell, would they? 

Anyway, it was a Friday, which was why Elias was in a cardigan at all.

“Er — about the benefit… What does the Magnus Institute even have to do with battling rural isolation?”

Elias looked blank for a moment, as if Jon had suddenly started talking nonsense. Then he blinked and smiled. “You don’t need to worry about that, Jon. We’ll just be there to support our benefactors. Anyway, are you off for the day?”

“Yes,” Jon said, blinking. “Well, I was going to ask you.” 

Elias looked amused. “You don’t have to report to me your daily comings and goings, Jon. Of course, if you wish to make an expedition somewhere farther than the south of England, I would like to be notified.” 

“Of course,” Jon said, feeling foolish. “Well, I’ll be going then --” 

“However.” 

Elias said this as Jon was almost completely out of his office, one foot remaining inside. Jon stopped abruptly and looked back at him, his sense of dread mounting. 

“It _is_ your birthday, and I would like to treat you. Don’t look so grim, Jon. I won’t drag you to a karaoke bar, which is what Tim and the others are planning to do.” 

“Sounds like them,” Jon replied. “All right, I’ll see you later -- I suppose?” 

“No,” Elias said, with a brief shake of his head. “We can go now.”

“It’s not even four,” Jon protested, to no avail. Elias put a light hand on his shoulder and ushered him out. 

*

“Do you wonder why I chose you to be the Archivist, Jon?” Elias asked him over dinner and Jon nearly choked on his chicken. Of course he had wondered, but he hadn’t expected Elias to be so direct. 

“Er. I’d heard departmental gossip that Sasha … Gertrude seemed to have picked her as a potential successor.” 

Elias nodded. “Yes, well, Gertrude and I didn’t see eye-to-eye on many things, including the issue of her successor. Sasha, of course, was an excellent candidate, and I’m sure would have been a good choice. However, I saw something in you, Jon, that I think could become something _great._ ” 

“Great,” Jon echoed as Elias ordered more of the -- excellent, heady wine. He was careful to drink sparingly -- the last thing he wanted to do was get drunk and make a tit of himself in front of Elias. Georgie always teased him about being a lightweight, to which Jon would always reply that he didn’t need drinking to replace feelings, thank you. (That always annoyed Georgie and the rest of his friends to no end -- unsurprisingly.) 

Elias seemed to have no such reservations. At the last drink of the night, he toasted to Jon and his future as the Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, and of course, Jon was obliged to drink to that. That last drink, however, seemed to go to his head. When it was time to go, Jon found himself following Elias out and into his car. 

“You can drop me off --” Jon blinked as he caught sight of the reflection of Elias’ eyes from the rearview mirror. 

“It’s all right, Jon. You’ve had a little much. You can stay over at my house, and go home tomorrow.” 

Jon sputtered, feeling his face turn red. “I don’t -- I don’t think that would be _appropriate_ , Elias.” 

“Jon,” Elias said reproachfully. “You’ve overindulged. I’m trying to help you.” 

For a moment, Jon wondered if he’d read the signs all wrong. Perhaps Elias had really meant to be helpful? But no, he remembered now the look Elias had given him just now. Tigerish. Ravenous. It would be foolish to go further. 

Jon knew that people in their field must look askance to his promotion. He simply didn’t have the experience for it, or, frankly, the connections. But Elias said that he’d seen something in him. It stung a little that something might’ve been -- less than pure. 

“You’re thinking too hard about it,” Elias observed. “Of course, I wouldn’t presume anything. Ah, you can catch your bus here, I think.” He stopped the car and Jon stumbled out. It was in the rainy chill of the evening that Jon realized he’d forgotten his umbrella at home. Shit. The ground was covered with broken glass, which crunched under his shoes as he went over to the shelter. 

Jon waited. 

A few minutes later, a black car came back down the road and stopped in front of the shelter. Elias rolled down the window and peered out at him. Jon stared back at him. 

“... It’s still my birthday,” Jon said, despite himself. 

“Get in,” Elias said and the passenger side door opened up. 

Jon got in. 

* 

Elias lived in a beautiful little house that was probably eye-rollingly expensive. Inside, it was stuffed with antiques, several centuries’ worth. Jon took it all in -- the place was so different from his office. Elias caught wind of his bewilderment and laughed, a short bark of amusement. “My parents were -- collectors, if you will. Over enthusiastic ones. Sentiments sometimes rob us of good sense.” 

“They left you all this?” Jon asked. The extent of his parents’ estate could probably fit into a suitcase. He couldn’t relate to a patrimony that included what looked like genuine Louis XIV chairs. 

“Most of it,” Elias said, taking his coat. “Would you like some tea?” 

“No thank you,” Jon replied. 

“Then I’ll have some -- can I leave you in the library?” 

Jon didn’t reply -- he was already making his way there. If the rest of the house was haphazardly decorated by a melange of styles, the library at least was a spot of harmony in the house. He glanced over the titles and wondered idly if Elias had ever taken home a Leitner. He wouldn’t have considered it possible -- until now. Elias did seem to take risks, after all. 

Over the fireplace, near the piano, there was a portrait of some ancestor of Elias’ -- it had to be, he thought. They had the same light grey eyes. 

Jon was considering this when Elias came in with a towel. “For the rain,” he said, rather unnecessarily, Jon thought. 

“Thank you,” Jon said, giving his hair a rather perfunctory rub. Elias compressed his lips together and held out his hand. 

“May I?” he asked and Jon gave the towel back to him, expecting him to put it away. Instead, Elias took off Jon’s glasses and put them on top of the piano, and dried his hair thoroughly. Then, almost as an afterthought, he kissed him. 

“Elias, I think …” 

Elias pressed a finger on Jon’s lips. “Don’t worry so much, Jon. Let me take care of you for now.” Then, he went down on his knees. For a crazy moment, Jon wondered if he was going to propose. Had the promotion been just a strange hoax?

Instead, Elias unzipped Jon’s flies and pulled down his pants. The moment his hand — cool and dry, an impersonal sort of touch— made contact with Jon’s cock, Jon shuddered and stepped backward, his back banging against the piano. 

“Relax, Jon,” was Elias’ last words to him before he swallowed Jon’s cock with a smoothed, practiced gesture that didn’t bear thinking about. Elias sucked cock like he could medal in it during the Olympics, which was certainly something Jon didn’t truly need to know. But now he did and he always would.

Jon put a tentative hand on Elias’ head, looking intently at the grey-flecked brown hair, to avoid staring openly at the sight of his cock disappearing into his boss’ mouth. He was making noises, despite himself, desperate little gasps that he tried to muffle.

“Don’t,” Elias said, pulling away for a moment, Jon’s pre-come making his mouth slick and red. “Let me hear you.”

“Fuck,” Jon said. “ _Fuck._ ”

He tried to pull away before he came but Elias held on firmly and Jon, with numb astonishment, came into his boss’ mouth. And his boss swallowed it. 

Then Elias rose from the floor with a pleased look on his face.

“Very good Jon,” he said, licking the corners of his mouth. Jon felt faint.

“I — uh — Elias —”

Elias led him to a comfortable chair in front of the fireplace and seated himself in another chair opposite him. They stared at each other for a long, slow moment before Elias spread out his fingers. “Take a statement from me.”

“What?” Jon had no idea where this was going on. He’d tucked his cock back into his trousers and had tried to go back to normal, but Elias was looking at him like he was some kind of gourmet meal. So, definitely not normal. 

He swallowed, hard. “What about? Also I don’t have a recording device.”

Elias raised his brow. “Don’t you?”

A tape recorder clicked on. Jon looked at it in bewilderment. He was certain it hadn’t been there five minutes ago. “Ah. What should this statement be about?”

Elias pretended to think about it. Then he snapped his fingers. “A statement given by Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute, concerning a brief haunting by his predecessor, James Wright, of his office in March of 1992.”

“Statement given live by subject,” Jon said, leaning over and making sure that the tape recorder was working. Of course it was. 

When the story ended, Jon was left looking at Elias curiously. The story didn’t ring true to him -- or at least, all of it could be explained by the faults of human memory and perception, as well as odd but wholly natural occurrences. But even putting that aside, it didn’t feel real -- although Jon was at a loss to explain what that feeling was. 

Elias didn’t seem to believe it either, although he answered all Jon’s questions and clarified further. 

But still -- 

“It’s bullshit,” Jon said aloud. Not a word of it true. Elias was playing with him. 

“Please, Jon. Give me a little respect. I wouldn’t just waste your time with some blather,” Elias said, a malicious light in his eyes. “Though I would be happy to know that you can already pick out false statements so easily. It’s a very important skill for the Archivist to have.” 

“Did Gertrude have that?” 

“Gertrude Robinson,” Elias said, with a sigh and brief look Heavenward. “You know, when I first joined the Institute, she and I were quite chummy. But I matured, sobered and she -- well, she soured on me. But we were colleagues for such a long time. I think we had a healthy level of respect for each other.” 

“And did you ever take her back to yours?” Jon asked. 

“No,” Elias said with a sardonic smile. “We weren’t each other types at all. Gertrude preferred -- fiery redheads. My tastes run more demure.” 

“Have you slept with any other Institute staff?” 

“I’m a professional.” 

“You blew me half an hour ago.” 

Elias puckered his lips. “Only you, Jon.” 

Jon wished he had a pen or something that he could play with. Almost unconsciously he reached for -- something, anything in his pocket. Nothing. Just a hand grasping at nothing, balled into a fist.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t ever have to do this again,” Elias said composedly. “I have a guest bedroom upstairs -- go and get some sleep, Jon. You certainly need it.”

The recorder had shut off by itself. 

Jon disliked the feeling he had now, of vulnerability with nothing to support him. If he said as much, he doubted Elias would understand. Elias didn’t seem like the sort of person who had ever felt unsure in his entire life. 

“Of course, I had doubts,” Elias said, as if he was reading Jon’s mind. “But I knew you _deserved_ a chance.” He reached out and touched Jon’s face. “You are so extraordinary, Jon. How can I convince you?” 

Jon knew he should move away. Take that offer of the guest bedroom. _Get out_. But it was his cursed curiosity stirring up again. He wanted to know what it was like.

He leaned forward. “What would you do to convince me, Elias?” 

Elias smiled. “So much.”

Jon hadn’t ever-- well, not with someone so much older than him, like Elias. (How old was Elias? Had he implied he and Gertrude joined the Institute at the same time? That couldn’t be right, could it?) 

So he approached the whole thing with a scientific sort of interest. There was something inherently vulnerable about naked flesh -- he would’ve been a liar if he said that he wasn’t interested in seeing what Elias did when he wasn’t pretending to be a normal, cardigan-wearing person. 

“All right,” Jon said, letting his hand unclench. He reached out for Elias, who took his hand eagerly. Kissed it. What an odd but tender gesture. Maybe it was to be expected, Jon thought. Older people were so grateful to be thought of, sexually. 

The rest of the night blurred together with intense periods of awareness, pleasure and acute embarrassment. Jon was very wrong about some of his assumptions about Elias, but correct in others. Even in the privacy of his own mind, he wouldn’t like to say he was fucked within an inch of his life but. Perhaps. It was closer than he was comfortable with admitting. 

It was still dark when he woke up, tucked up against Elias like they were the world’s sweetest pair of lovers. He tried to make as little noise as possible as he dressed and crept down the stairs. Nonetheless, the feeling he was being watched was almost unbearable. 

He was down the road when he realized that he’d left his glasses in Elias’ house. When he got back, Elias himself was at the door, glasses in his hand. 

“Have a good weekend, Jon,” he said with a smile. Jon grabbed his glasses and bid him a garbled goodbye. He knew his face was brick-red by now. It wasn’t the end of the world, but it felt like it. 

He would recover, however, and getting back home, he hoped that Admiral would deign to wish him a belated happy birthday. He certainly deserved it. 


End file.
